set it in the middle of the dark oak mantlepiece.
She carefully trimmed the bottom of the rose stem with the kitchen scissors and placed the red flower in the water.
The rose sat directly next to the framed black-and-white photograph of Duane standing beside his first dairy barn in 1955.
Mason looked up from his plastic blocks. “Did Grandpa Duane’s hip hurt when he walked across the floor?”
“He walked just fine, Mason,” Kaylee said.
Travis walked into the room carrying his heavy work jacket, stopping three steps inside the living room archway.
“There is warm tater tot casserole on the stove if you’re hungry,” I said.
“I’m not hungry,” Travis said.
“Then go wash up,” I said. “We have pasture fence to fix in the morning.”
Travis looked at the red rose sitting beside my father’s photograph, then over at Kaylee.
“What pasture fence?” Travis asked.
